Infection
by FrUKing Awesome Canadian Hero
Summary: In a mechanical world, where time is run by countdowns and light is a lethal giveaway, two teams are locked in a deadly game of hide-and-seek. The nations are fighting a losing battle - against themselves. Can England and the few remaining Greens find a way to survive the infection and get out of the maze alive? Laser tag AU, heavy FrUK with other pairings on side.
1. Termination

**A/N: Hey, guys! I'm back. And Wiwiun, if you're reading this, I AM working on that oneshot for you. It's just taking a hell of a lot longer than I thought it would. *sheepish***

**Anyway. Enjoy! And if you're confused, I think everything should be explained in the next chapter - this is just an intro.**

* * *

"_Game terminated in: thirty seconds._"

Arthur ducked behind the tree, biting his lip. They'd seen him. Green eyes darted frantically in the eerie dimness of the maze, his hold on his gun tightening; the options were to stay here, and let himself be caught, or to make a break for the caves, and pray his lights wouldn't be shot out on the way.

It was a slim chance. Ludwig was a good shot.

But it was better than dying without honor.

Arthur's heartbeat pounded in his ears as he lowered to a stealthy crouch, silently scoping out the area for any signs of the telltale green lights of his allies; he glanced around once, twice, three times, and tried to calm his growing panic. Where were the others? Had they all been infected?

"_Game terminated in: twenty seconds._"

That deep, mechanical voice that seemed to echo through the maze from nowhere made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Arthur bit his lip, narrowed his eyes, and burst free of the shadows.

The electric drilling of gunshots immediately filled his ears, and he turned around to return a few shots at the corner where Ludwig's scarlet lights lurked, as he stumbled back toward the cover of his allies. He didn't even pause to enjoy the sense of triumph as he heard the telltale beeping of a direct hit; he just turned and ran.

No other lights shone out through the maze.

_Where were the other Greens?_

_ Where was Francis?_

Stopping briefly for a split second's rest, Arthur took a right, weaving his way back toward the outskirts of the arena with the freezing hands of panic seeping into his mind. He ran faster, fighting hysteria. If he wasn't with them when the game ended, then—

"_Game terminated in: ten seconds._"

Casting a desperate glance over his shoulder, Arthur swore and put on another burst of speed; one of the Reds had given chase. The electronic pulse of the maze around him rang in his ears, gunshots hot on his tail—he ducked into a corner, hearing the pounding of heavy footsteps sprinting closer, squeezing his eyes shut and praying he'd find a way out of this—

"_Five._"

More shooting. He winced, bracing himself for a hit and wondering if there was any way to fight the infection once it set in—

"_Four._"

"What the _fuck _are you doin', Iggy?"

_Alfred._

Arthur's eyes shot open again, and he leapt to his feet just in time to see the American come level with him, holding the trigger down and raking the area where the Red was standing; a manic beeping told them the man was down. Alfred grabbed Arthur's wrist and yanked him around a corner, back into the deeps of the maze.

"_Three._"

They were running, racing against time, dashing around corners, nearly falling—Arthur's breaths were growing ragged in his chest, his throat raw from panting as Alfred tugged him onward. He could barely keep up with the American's long strides, but forced himself to try anyway—

"_Two._"

"Go, go, _go!_" Alfred yelled, rushing him ahead, grabbing his shoulder and pushing him onward—Arthur tripped and fell, and Alfred yanked him back to his feet, jarring his shoulder and making his ribs scream in agony—

Another corner—

Arthur dove forward, seeing the green glow of his teammates in the distance—

"_One._"

More speed; his legs nearly gave out as he pushed even faster—Alfred was pushing him along, one hand on his back, the other clamped around his wrist—his shoulder still throbbed, but he didn't have time to wonder if it was dislocated or broken—

Green lights coming closer—

Ten meters to go—

He fell and skidded on his knees, tearing his trousers and feeling hot blood spurt from the gash—

"C'mon, Iggy, _almost there!_"

Alfred gave another tug on the bad shoulder, and he screamed in agony as raw pain shot through his arm—

He staggered to his feet—

"_Zero._"

Arthur opened his eyes, and everything went black.

* * *

**A little Hunger-Games-ish, _non_? Let me know what you thought; the next chappie should be coming soon!**

**And no, this is not a USUK fic. Apologies to anyone who thought it was!**


	2. The Dark Hours

**A/N: Heh, heh... Hi guys. *hiding behind computer* PLEASE DON'T KILL ME FOR TAKING THIS LONG TO UPDATE! The only excuse I have is that my computer got a virus and the file was somehow locked for editing so it was a bitch to finish this...**

**Yeah. Thank you, Guest, for giving me a reality check. To tell the truth, I completely forgot this fic existed. . I apologize profusely, although I will not promise fast updates in the future because they just don't seem to happen when it's me writing them, lol.**

**To make up for that, this chapter turned out a lot more romantic that I'd planned, with some FrUKy hotness in the middle and... well, I'm not giving away anymore. Anyway. Enjoy. Please don't murder me for le cliff hanger, if you haven't already speared my head on a stick for taking this long to update.**

* * *

At first he thought he'd blacked out, but suddenly a voice cut through the ringing, claustrophobic darkness.

"Francis?"

Alfred sounded shaken, and Arthur shut his eyes against the sheer wall of black that was pressing in on him from all sides, making him want to curl into a ball. He should be used to it by now, after countless times of this happening, but it still made his body start quivering. He hated the Dark hours.

"_Oui?_" Francis's voice replied urgently, but Arthur barely heard it.

Only now was he really aware of the agony now searing through his shoulder and knees, trying to ignore the warm stickiness seeping into his trousers and the slight, metallic scent of blood that was filling the air. He gritted his teeth against it, inhaling sharply as he tried to get off of his knees and only succeeded in sending a jolt of pain through the wounds.

"Whoa, whoa, easy," Alfred murmured in his ear as though calming a skittish animal, gently taking him by the shoulders to lift him to his feet, but even that simple touch made a shock of agony explode in his shoulder and shoot into his ribs and arm. Arthur tried not to cry out in pain, but a muffled yelp escaped his throat anyway, and Alfred abruptly let go of that shoulder. He helped the wincing Arthur up from the ground, another set of hands taking over once he was on his feet—these were warmer and softer than Alfred's, and ten times more gentle.

"Francis, you bloody wanker," Arthur gasped weakly, glassy tears of excruciating pain and sweeping, glorious relief slipping down his cheeks. He reached up with his good arm to pull the Frenchman close to him, pressing his face to the warm, strong chest, feeling what he could not see. Francis's breathing was deep and even, his heartbeat strong and body steady. His shirt was wrinkled and there was a small tear near the collar, but somehow he still managed to smell of that wonderful, rich rosy scent. His arms around Arthur were warm as he helped the Briton to what Arthur assumed was someplace not in the middle of the floor, feeling his way, careful not to let the wounded Brit bump into any obstacles. Arthur's body was trembling as he clung to Francis for support.

"Y-you were supposed to cover me so I could get away," he whispered, nearly choking on the words. Francis's warm hand came up to stroke his face as he felt himself being carefully lain down and the Frenchman bending over him. His body was warm.

"I know, _cher_," he breathed. Arthur could hear both his comforting cooing and the regret buried beneath it all. "_Je suis d__ésole_..."

"S-so why didn't you?" Arthur tried to spit, but it came out sounding strained as he tried to move so the searing throb in his shoulder would let up. It didn't.

Francis was still stroking his jaw gently, and now his other hand was tracing gentle, calming patterns in Arthur's chest. "Another one of the Reds found me and chased me into the forest, _mon ami._"

Both of them knew that _ami _was a lie. But no one else knew about their secret times together, so the word would have to suffice.

"I wanted to go back out after you, but there were only two minutes left to termination. I had to find my way back here. I told Alfred as soon as I got here, and he went to find you. I would've come myself, but you know he's much faster than me."

"Faster than _me_, too," Arthur muttered under his breath. He was starting to hear the others moving around through the ringing in his ears, and Francis's warm accent. It wouldn't be much longer before Gilbert would get their lights glowing again; they didn't have much time.

He slid an arm around Francis's neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

Francis kissed back hard, still tracing those patterns into Arthur's chest—and as soon as he'd pulled away, Arthur realized what Francis had been writing into his skin this entire time:

_I love you._

"_Je t'aime aussi_," Arthur whispered back.

He just had time to withdraw his arm from around Francis's neck before the green glow of their lights came back, and Francis was forced to pull away.

* * *

The maze around them was still lit by the dim green glow of their lights—a lethal risk, were they to be seen, but necessary for these pitch-dark, stiflingly black Dark hours—and stalagmites and stalactites spiked the ceiling and floor like teeth in the jaws of some enormous beast. The quiet, cool sound of water dripping was the only one to be heard, and Arthur shivered; the air here in the caves was cold, even despite the number of people sitting here in this small space.

Vash had twisted his shoulder back into place, and its stabbing agony had finally faded to a dull ache, though his entire arm was still incredibly weak and it hurt to bend. His knees had been bandaged with what cloth they had, to stop the bleeding, but not much more could be done other than making sure the fresh scab didn't split when he straightened them.

No one spoke. Arthur knew from the desperately heavy feeling in the air that everyone was just as exhausted as he was. He leaned back against a pleasant hollow in the synthetic stone behind him, watching the others in silence.

Gilbert sat in a corner behind a screen of stalagmites, tinkering with his latest gadget to help them survive in the maze, and for once even _he_ didn't have anything to say. He carefully kept his elbows away from where Roderich had fallen asleep with his head in the Prussian's lap. As Arthur watched, one of his gloved hands strayed from the screwdriver handle and came to rest in Roderich's matted brown hair for a moment. The Austrian stirred a little, before falling back asleep in Gilbert's lap.

Elizaveta sat next to Katyusha, and a little ways from them sulked the ever-creepy Naytalia. The former two were murmuring quietly to each other, motioning with their hands as though having a conversation, while Vash snored quietly against the wall, arms protectively around the younger sister asleep on his chest. The Vargas twins were curled in a heap, but that didn't stop Arthur from seeing the tear streaks all down Lovino's face; Antonio had been infected today.

Alfred and Matthew lay together quietly, the American's arms protectively holding Matthew close to him. They were both asleep now; but Arthur's heart ached with loneliness at the memory of seeing them touching each other's faces, running fingers through hair and over skin. Francis sat just across from him, not ten feet away—but he felt like the Frenchman was on the other side of the world.

Francis.

Arthur made the mistake of looking at him, locking their eyes by accident—and then, no matter how he tried, he couldn't tear himself away from the beautiful, cerulean-blue orbs locked with his own. They held so much emotion; Arthur wondered if his eyes ever did that. Gave everything away, and let himself be so open and vulnerable to Francis's gaze. The blue was all-consuming, and so impossibly deep.

Francis was lonely too.

"I'll be back," Arthur said abruptly, climbing carefully to his feet and wincing as he tried to carefully stretch his legs without breaking the wounds on his knees open again. A wave of pain throbbed through his shoulder, but it ebbed in a moment and slipped back into the dull ache of the past few hours.

Gilbert looked up, slightly alarmed. "Your lights can't be turned off; what if you're s—"

"Just a few minutes," Arthur muttered, turning for the entrance of the cave. "I need to get out of here."

He didn't give Gilbert time to question it. He wouldn't go beyond the caverns, after all, and wouldn't stay out for more than a few minutes. No Reds would see him; after all, they didn't even come out during the Dark hours. Their lights didn't work; and that left them in the impenetrable darkness, groping out for each other in desperation. Arthur knew. The first few times, before Gil had figured out how to turn their lights on again, had always had the Greens doing the same.

Stepping just clear of the cave, he groaned softly as he straightened up fully and rolled out the kink in his neck.

When he tried to reach up with the bad shoulder, it cracked painfully and the muscles felt odd and rubbery—weak. He winced and let it fall to his side, to lean back against the synthetic stone behind him, wishing he had a cigarette. God knew he could do with a smoke right now; the punk streak in his veins was clawing its way out, as it often did when he was edgy or in pain. And right now, he was both.

Arthur whirled around when a tiny crunch of rock underfoot from behind him made him jump, but found himself staring into Francis's blue eyes again. Damn, he was so skittish. Francis took his hand wordlessly and carefully led him a small distance away, so they couldn't be seen by the others.

"_Merde_, I miss you," he whispered, pulling the Briton into a close hug. Arthur hugged back as tightly as he could.

"Miss you too," Arthur muttered, before throwing his good arm around Francis's neck and smashing their mouths together. The Frenchman moaned softly and kissed back hungrily, pushing Arthur against a tree behind them and sliding his tongue into his mouth. Arthur arched upwards and allowed himself to revel in their melding heartbeats, feeling Francis's chest already pounding against his own, breaths harsh through his nose and thoughts slipping away. And now that damn Frenchman's hands were roaming, sliding downward, forcing him to moan. Arthur shot him a glare when he pulled away and yanked him down for another kiss.

_Snap._

Both of them froze.

Arthur's ears were suddenly ringing with the deafening silence. "Did you hear that?" he breathed against Francis's mouth, knowing the Frenchman would understand just from the movement of his lips, not daring to move anything else.

"_Oui_," Francis breathed back, almost inaudibly, before kissing him again and letting their lips part with a soft sound. He leaned in to Arthur's ear, arms still around his waist, and carefully breathed with another kiss, "Act like we didn't."

Arthur nodded slightly and pulled away, pressing himself flat against the tree as Francis pushed his body in front of the Briton's. "What are you doing?" Arthur whispered.

"Protecting _mon amour_," Francis replied with the tiniest of grins. Thankfully Arthur's groan could've been mistaken for one of pleasure.

_Crack._

This time they didn't miss a beat, instead leaning in for another kiss, no longer daring to speak aloud. Arthur was shaking as he mouthed against Francis's lips, "_Move._"

"_Non._"

"_You'll get infected_."

"_I before you._"

Now Francis really kissed him, one hand behind his neck, pulling him closer and then suddenly letting go.

_Crunch._

"_Is it a Red?_" Francis breathed.

Arthur couldn't see any glow.

"_Probably_," he mouthed back, before finally pulling away from the Frenchman's lips. He was shaking, adrenaline rushing in his veins once again.

_Zzzing._

A gun.

Charging to shoot.

Somewhere in the dark.

Arthur kissed Francis one more time and then leapt out from beneath him.

"What the—"

Before Francis could finish his sentence, Arthur had him by the hand and was dragging him behind the tree a split second before the gunshots raked over the trunk where they'd just been standing; someone swore in Russian in the bushes—

"Ivan," Francis gasped.

"Run!" Arthur demanded as their eyes locked, not needing confirmation—he grabbed Francis's hand and the two of them burst from their hiding place, sprinting as hard as they could—Arthur fired some blind shots in their wake, knowing they wouldn't be enough—his knees were torn open and bleeding again; he could feel it running down his shins—

Still, he didn't stop.

_Couldn't_ stop.

His mind was reduced to a machine of instinct, operating only on the terror that pounded in his veins as the sounds of Ivan crashing through the synthetic underbrush behind them grew closer and closer in their own wake—

He leapt over a fallen log, Francis at his side.

Francis fell.

Arthur skidded to a halt as the Frenchman was caught in the stomach by the log, watching in horror as the dull outline of Ivan drew ever-nearer—

"Francis! _Come on, you bloody frog!_"

His voice sounded shrill and panicky, even to his own ears as he fought himself to stay there for the second it would take Francis to struggle to his feet. But Francis pushed himself up, nearly there, only to fall again. He looked at Arthur desperately, blue eyes shining eerily under their green lights, and suddenly pulled him back to bring their mouths together in one last kiss.

"I am a lover, not a fighter," Francis whispered. "I always called you _lapin _for a reason, _mon beau Angleterre._" He cracked a tiny smile. "There is a target around the back of the cave that will give you thirty seconds of invisibility. Use it to get back to the others."

"Bloody hell, no!" Arthur yelped, yanking away and trying to get the Frenchman to stand—Ivan was only ten feet away now, firing constantly—he ducked behind the log, knuckles white on Francis's hand—

"Go, _idiot!_" Francis yelled, still struggling to get to his feet and giving Arthur a shove to force their hands apart. Ivan was nearly on them now—the Briton forced himself to bound away, sprinting once again, leaving Francis behind at the mercy of Ivan—

He made the mistake of looking back a split second after he had reached and shot the target, just in time to see Francis's lights fade to red and flicker out, the look of desperation scalding him from almost half a mile away. Blue eyes glazed and disappeared into shadow as Francis succumbed to the infection.

Arthur choked on the scream in his throat.

* * *

Everyone in the cave turned, scared, as Arthur came half-skidding, half-stumbling inside, thirty seconds of invisibility just barely up and green lights flickering on again.

Roderich was no longer asleep in Gilbert's lap, and the Prussian leapt to his feet, Alfred not far behind.

"Arthur, what the hell—"

"Ivan's found us. We need a safer hiding place."

He must have looked a mess; his knees were spurting blood, his injured arm held at a strange angle because it was the only one that didn't hurt, and he was covered in dirt from the underbrush with his good hand already bruising a nasty shade of yellow from Francis holding onto it so tightly.

"What happened?" Gil asked, voice like steel. Over these past few weeks in the maze, Arthur could see where Ludwig had gotten the commanding air from. His elder brother just chose not to use it.

"I told you, Ivan found us. He's going to be here with the rest of the Reds any second, so we need to _get our arses out of here!_"

Arthur grabbed another gun from the floor, its green-glowing gauge showing a full charge as he shoved it into an empty holster in his vest. He didn't even stop to see the confused and frightened looks on the other nations' faces as he started back toward the cave's entrance. A hand suddenly caught his forearm from behind. He threw it off.

"And where are you going?" Alfred demanded stonily, catching him by the shoulder again. Arthur yanked away another time, chest clenching at the memory of the desperation in those blue eyes.

"To get my bloody frog back."


	3. Game Resume

**A/N: Woohoo! Finally, another update! I have no idea when the next one will be, but hopefully sometime in the relatively near future. THIS WILL BE FINISHED. EVENTUALLY. *facedesk***

**The voice's words (it'll make sense, trust me) are not mine. The entire inspiration for this chapter happened from _Complication _by Aslan Faction; hence, the words.**

**And now I'll shut up, since you've all been so kind as to let me live this long, and hopefully won't kill me after this chapter... **

* * *

Dead silence.

Arthur turned on his heel and headed back for the mouth of the cave, even as Alfred's shocked voice cut through the quiet behind him.

"Wait, _what?_"

His hand grabbed at Arthur's shoulder, but he growled and threw it off, striding away. Alfred tried to catch him again, but he pulled away harder this time, until finally the American leapt in front of him, blocking the exit as Gil led the others outside quickly, throwing a worried glance over his shoulder. Al just nodded at him—the signal to go.

The glow of green lights faded as one by one, all the other Greens slipped out into the pitch-darkness beyond the cave, following Gilbert's lead. Their own lights cast only a dim haze, throwing long, deep shadows over the walls. Alfred turned a steely gaze on Arthur.

"Francis is infected?" he murmured.

Arthur suddenly wanted nothing more than to slump to the floor and cry, but he took a deep breath, biting his lip and glaring back at Alfred.

"I got away," he said shortly. "He... fell. And couldn't get back up."

Alfred nodded heavily, looking down for a moment in silence. "We all will, one day," he murmured softly. Arthur blinked back tears, but he knew somewhere in his gut that it was true. He closed his eyes, nodding as well. He would be with Francis, soon.

Alfred's voice broke him from his reverie. "Is there something I don't know about?" he asked quietly.

Arthur's heart jolted into his throat, but then he sighed and nodded in defeat. "Francis and I..." he whispered, swallowing hard. "We've been together for six years."

Alfred didn't respond, and Arthur swallowed hard again, anger rising inside him again. "I'm going to get him back," he said sharply. But when he turned for the exit once again, Alfred stopped him.

"You're my father, my brother, and my friend," he murmured. "You need a plan. I'm not losing you to the infection."

Arthur gave a bitter smile. "You just said yourself that we'd all die of it," he murmured. "You know you'll lose me anyway."

Alfred shook his head. "No. I'll die fighting for you—not without you." He sighed, shuffling one foot and looking down at the ground. "I'll die fighting for you and Mattie, and Gil and Vash and Elizaveta and all the others." He gave a sheepish grin. "That's what heroes do, Arthur."

Arthur managed a tiny smile. "I guess it is," he murmured.

Alfred smiled back, touching his arm gently and starting toward the cave's mouth. "C'mon, Iggy, we need to catch up to the others."

* * *

Two hours to gameplay, Arthur collapsed.

He slumped against the wall of the new hideout they'd only barely managed to reach, tongue dry, throat parched and eyes fighting to stay open. The harsh green glow of their lights pierced through the darkness like tiny knives stabbing at his eyes, leaving gaping blue holes in his vision. He had to squint to make out anything but the blinding dimness of the lights. He shut them in defeat.

Alfred sat down next to him. "You alright?" he murmured, his own voice deep and hoarse from lack of water.

Arthur shook his head, jamming his fingers into his temples. He couldn't think—his body was exhausted, but his mind was shocked into a crazed rush that made him wonder if he was delirious, racing at a million miles an hour. He couldn't concentrate, and the world was impossibly sharp, edges and lights and shadows stabbing at his eyes, that _voice _flitting through his head.

The one he'd heard in his dreams for God-knew-how-long, ever since this maze.

_Take the blue pill, _it breathed in his ear. _The story ends—you wake up in your bed, and do whatever you want to._

Arthur wished this was as simple as being a nightmare.

"The voice is getting worse," he muttered back to Alfred, dull pain throbbing in his weak shoulder and forcing him to let his arm fall to his side.

He could hear the murmurings of the others—Katyusha's high, soft voice, Gilbert's quiet orders, painfully unnatural in such a low tone, and Kiku's calm Japanese lilt, that sounded almost like quiet humming, soothing to Arthur's aching mind. The Italy twins still seemed frightened.

_Take the blue pill—the story ends._

He let his head fall back against the wall as the quiet crunches of Matthew's soft footsteps approached.

The younger man settled on the other side of Alfred, and in a rustle of fabric the American's arm slid around his waist. Arthur could hear him curl close to Alfred's side, breathing slightly shaky. He'd been crying.

"Papa..." he whispered. Alfred's coat rustled, and Arthur knew he must be stroking the Canadian's hair.

"I know," Alfred breathed back. His voice was disappearing, raspy now. And it shook, as well. They were all in shock.

_Take the blue pill._

Arthur finally pried open his eyes again, feeling as though sand was beneath his eyelids. He groaned at the sharpness of the green lights in his vision, forcing himself to keep looking, anyway.

"Gilbert," he finally said, swallowing to wet his throat. The Prussian looked up immediately. "Is there water here?"

Gil nodded, much to his relief. "_Ja. _There's a cold spring not far from here," he said, climbing to his feet. "I can get some, if you...?"

Arthur shook his head, bracing himself against the cliff face behind him and hauling himself to his feet. His knees screeched in agony, but he kept them from buckling. Gilbert watched him carefully, and Arthur carefully limped to where he stood, forcing himself to stand just as straight as always.

"Where is it?" he asked, trying not to sound too hoarse. Gil took his arm, watching him to make sure he wouldn't fall, and carefully helped him, slipping and sliding, down the steep cliff face from the new cave. Arthur's bruised feet finally met solid ground, layered with synthetic grass that was soft beneath his steps, and a few meters more and he climbed gingerly to his knees beside the cool, clear waters of a babbling stream.

He looked at Gilbert gratefully, and Gilbert smiled back.

The water was frigid and wonderful on his hands as he dipped them into the stream, lifting them to his mouth and smiling slightly as he felt freezing drops trickle down his chin and wet his raw throat. Simply having a drink brought life back into his exhausted body. Arthur cupped more and gulped it down thirstily, splashing his face with it and running his wet hands through his hair. But when his shoulder cracked warningly, he let his arm fall to his side, taking a deep breath and standing up.

"Thank you," he murmured, and Gil nodded.

"You need to sleep," he said grimly. "Exhaustion won't keep you alive tomorrow."

Arthur nodded, but dread twisted in the pit of his stomach.

Sleep meant being left vulnerable.

Sleep meant the voice.

Sleep meant dreams of_ Francis_.

Tears pricked the backs of his eyes as Gilbert and he climbed back up to the new hideaway, and even when Arthur slumped down against the wall, curling into a tight ball with his back to the others, he couldn't bring himself to force his eyelids shut.

Behind them—he could_ feel_ it—the image of Francis's desperation, his _love_, was seared in white-hot pain.

And he was gone.

But Arthur was going to save him if he had to go through hell and back.

Tears trickled silently down his face, as Arthur lay awake, staring at the wall, and despite his racing, grief-stricken mind, slowly sank into terrorizing nightmares of Francis.

_Take the blue pill._

_ Take the blue pill._

_ Take the blue pill._

* * *

Arthur jolted awake what felt like seconds later, every trace of drowsiness leaving him as he sat bolt-upright, leaping from his nightmares.

"_Game resumed in: thirty seconds_."

Everyone was frozen, exchanging glances at one another. None dared break the terrible silence. The maze was coiling around them—machinery crashing far in the distance, the air suddenly charged with something everyone felt deeper than their bones. Thirty seconds. Countless times before, they had only had thirty seconds to live, and now, these thirty seconds may well be their last.

Every time the game resumed, they were a step closer to death.

To the infection.

_Francis._

"_Game resumed in: twenty seconds._"

Renewed determination searing him from the inside out, Arthur rose to his feet, walked to the center of the cave, and picked up a gun, the gauge not yet glowing to show its charge. The second his fingers wrapped around it, he could feel it—the maze was angry. The maze hated his defiance of its absolute power.

Arthur shoved the gun into an empty holster in his vest. The maze's anger rose to a blistering rage; he could feel the crackling heat of it.

Slowly, deliberately, and with an anger to rival that of the maze's slowly rearing up inside of him, he walked back to his spot near the wall and sat back down.

All the other nations watched him—Alfred with a smirk, Lovino with terror in his eyes, and Naytalia with that unsettlingly blank stare.

"_Game resumed in: ten seconds._"

Ten uninfected seconds to live.

Arthur watched the others, mind blank, fear strangely vacant, and adrenaline rushing through him. He listened to the beating of his own heart, pounding against his ribs, but the cool, calculated rage that surged through him was unnerving. A tiny smirk crept over his lips.

"_Five._"

He was fighting for Francis.

"_Four._"

He could not be beaten.

"_Three._"

There was something that lurked outside this cave, that would take away his heart and soul, and he knew for certain he was going to fall.

"_Two._"

But he would never surrender.

"_One._"

Never.

"_Zero._"

Without a bit of fear in his mind, Arthur leapt to meet the Reds that surged in on them.


	4. The Blue Pill

**A/N: WHAT'S THIS?! Two updates within the span of a single month?! *slams face into desk* Dear god, this has taken me way too long to finish, but I assure you, we have pretty much reached the end! There's an epilogue that I intend to write shortly, though, so stay tuned! **

* * *

It was not two seconds before Arthur heard the first scream.

He couldn't look over his shoulder to see who had been hit, and in seconds it had already been swept from this mind by the tidal wave of scarlet beams raining down on them. No panic swept through him—his mind was completely and utterly blank, save for the echoing words of the voice.

_Take the blue pill._

His heart raced, frigid rage searing through him, as he raised his gun to his eye and stared straight down the sights. Glaring red lights stared back at him, and he pulled the trigger.

The lights flashed. Beeping exploded from the Red's vest—the thirty-second disabled alarm. Another pull of the trigger—another set of flashing lights. Three direct shots, and Arthur stopped dead in his tracks, heart strangling him.

Francis.

The scarlet lights of his vest cast an eerie glow over his face, and as their gazes met, Arthur felt his stomach clench. Francis's eyes—his _beautiful blue eyes—_were dead. No spark of recognition flickered. Arthur's knees nearly buckled.

He barely managed to stumble out of the way as Francis sent two red beams flying into the synthetic stone where his lights had been a fraction of a second before.

"Greens! Spread out! _Run!_" Alfred's orders barely registered in his ears, before Arthur took off. Ignoring the crackling agony in his knees, he stumbled down the cliff face, feet slipping and sliding on the loose gravel. The second his shoes found purchase in the synthetic grass again, he was running for all he was worth—his pulse pounded in his ears, breathing ragged, adrenaline screaming at him to _go_. A leap over the stream—he fell, slipping on the wet riverbank, before scrambling to his feet again with a glance over his shoulder.

Francis was still on his tail.

Arthur sprinted faster. His legs were burning, but he forced himself to _go_, leaping over a fallen tree. Brambles scratched his hands, leaves whipping into his face.

He didn't care about the infection—he couldn't face Francis. He couldn't face the horrible soullessness in those blue eyes.

But the second a yelp of pain reached his ears, he skidded to a dead halt in his tracks.

Silence.

Dared he go back?

He _would _save Francis.

Arthur turned and started slowly back toward the log, fearing what would meet him, and caught sight of Francis lying on the ground, eyes closed, just in time to see his red lights flicker out.

His heart stopped, and he threw himself over the half-rotten tree trunk, a broken cry tearing from his throat. _No! _Francis couldn't be—

Arthur took the Frenchman's face in his hands, a ragged sob forcing itself free, feeling his neck desperately for a pulse. For a moment he felt himself shaking, desperate, before finally he caught the feeling of Francis's pulse, warm and alive beneath his fingers. All energy left him, and he collapsed on Francis's chest, shaking with silent tears of relief.

"You stupid bloody frog," he whispered, holding back tears, burying his face in Francis's dirt-smeared vest. "Why did you have to leave me?"

_Take the blue pill. The story ends—you wake up in your bed, and do whatever you want to._

Arthur pulled Francis's gun from its holster, throwing it away amongst the undergrowth, and leaned back to inspect him. There was a small bloody patch near his hairline, still bleeding—he'd hit his head and been knocked unconscious. Without his gun, he was no threat; Arthur sighed, trying to pull himself together, and yanked on his sleeve, tearing a strip of fabric from it and wadding it into a pad, gently wiping the blood from Francis's forehead.

"I love you, dammit," he whispered, voice quivering. "And I _will_ save you."

_Take the blue pill._

Arthur took an unsteady breath, leaning down to press a kiss to Francis's lips, wishing desperately that the Frenchman was still here to kiss him back. Another sob forced its way past his lips, and he fell on Francis's chest once more, hopelessness dragging him down.

_Take the blue pill._

Arthur let his hands run over Francis's chest, his grimy vest, lights blank and vacant in his unconsciousness, trying to wipe away a bit of the dirt. It was useless, he knew—but it was an excuse to touch him again. He could just see the smile on Francis's face, were he to catch Arthur touching him so tenderly, but Arthur couldn't help—

What was that lump doing in his side pocket?

_Trust me_, the voice whispered, and Arthur's breathing quickened as he reached into the pocket with cautious fingers._ Take the blue pill._

Suddenly it all made sense. His fingers closed around a small, smooth capsule, and he slowly, carefully brought it out of the pocket.

A small blue pill rested in the center of his palm.

So he wasn't a lunatic, after all.

Arthur quickly shoved the pill back into Francis's pocket, scrambling for his own. Sure enough, there was a small lump there—another blue capsule.

_Take the blue pill—the story ends._

An escape.

He was racing for the cave before the thought had time to make a full circuit around his brain.

The sounds of fighting reached his ears, spurring him on, forcing him even faster—he had to get there before everyone was gone.

He scrambled up the cliff face on his hands and knees, grabbing at anything he could for purchase, finally dragging himself up and immediately catching sight of Alfred in the madness

"Alfred!" he called, shouting over the din of gunshots and yells of rage. "Take the pill!"

The American faltered, before slamming Ivan over the head with the butt of his gun and sparing Arthur a glance. Arthur shot a Red off his tail.

"What?" Alfred called back.

"In the side pocket!" Arthur yelled. "There's a blue pill—it'll get you out!"

"You sure?"

Arthur had never been more sure of anything in his life. "Just do it! Tell the others!" he screamed, before turning around again and throwing himself into a sprint back down the cliff.

Francis. He had to get back to Francis—before he woke up.

Another mad dash through the woods—over the stream, scrambling through the matted underbrush, slipping on rocks and roots and vines before finally collapsing at Francis's side. His lights were already beginning to flicker; there wasn't any time.

Before he could think otherwise, Arthur yanked the pill from the Frenchman's vest and shoved it into his mouth.

A second later, he threw his own pill into his mouth just in time to see red lights flickering back to steady life.

The pill dissolved on his tongue, until in seconds it was as though it had never been there at all, and Arthur could feel himself fading, black dots beginning to swallow his vision, clouding over and blurring together the shapes of the trees. Francis's lights were fading, and he felt as though he were watching it all from very far in the distance, floating slowly up and away. Arthur fell back as he felt the pill making him weak, and the black void closed on his vision. Green eyes slipped closed.

If this was what it felt like to die, then it really wasn't bad at all...

Arthur was floating, weightless, before slowly, finally, he felt himself begin to fall, gathering speed, moving faster and faster—he wanted to scream, but no sound would leave his mouth, as he was forced to watch the blackness flying by, falling faster and faster and—

Green eyes snapped open.

Arthur stared around wildly for a second, before suddenly realizing there was something soft beneath him.

Warm blankets lay twisted around him—the golden glow of sunlight that he had yearned for for so long cast soft beams across the bedcovers, and he sat up slightly, propping himself up on his elbows.

A tiny twinge of pain shot through his shoulder, bringing everything rushing back—in a moment, he shrank back down, closing his eyes against it all, curling onto his side.

So it hadn't all been just a dream.

Had it?

Arthur felt something shift slightly in the bed beside him, and subconsciously reached toward it, feeling his hand meet something soft and warm. He opened his eyes with a jolt as he felt it move again, and suddenly looked up to find himself staring into astonished blue eyes—so alive he could break down with joy.

"_Francis_," he breathed. He reached up to touch the Frenchman's face, unscathed, running his fingers softly over the tiny ghost of a scar where the bloody wound had been at the side of his forehead.

"_Oui_, _belle_," Francis whispered, sounding at a loss for any English, brushing his hair softly from his face, before falling back to the bed and pulling Arthur into a tight hug.

"Oh, Francis," Arthur whispered, sliding his arms around the Frenchman's neck and burying his face in the warmth of his shoulder, fighting tears. He clenched his eyes shut, listening to the soft, smooth French murmurings in his ear, feeling the warm arms close around him—keeping him safe.

"_Je t'aime—je adore, mon coeur, mon rose,_" Francis breathed, voice shaking, holding him close as though they would wake up once again to find themselves back in the maze at any second. Arthur hugged him tighter, drinking in his scent, the warmth of his body, the softness of his hair against his cheek. It was all so priceless. He'd never before realized the how priceless this man was, holding him in his arms, kissing his neck gently, pulling the covers up and over them and simply hugging him close.

Arthur swallowed hard. "I couldn't lose you," he whispered, meaning to go on, but Francis cut him off with a kiss so soft he nearly melted.

"_Non_, _lapin_," he whispered, kissing him again so gently Arthur would think he was made of the most delicate glass imaginable. "_S'il vous plaît ne pas en parler à son sujet... Je adore, je adore..._"

He leaned down to kiss Arthur's neck, nipping softly, trailing tender kisses up and over his jaw until finally they met his lips. Arthur sighed softly, closing his eyes and arching slightly, running gentle fingers through Francis's silky, sleep-mussed hair.

"_Pensez-vous que n'importe qui dérange si on est en retard à la réunion?_" Francis breathed, recapturing his lips for a gentle kiss. Arthur sighed again, sliding arms closer around his shoulder.

"...I don't think they'll even notice," he murmured, breathing just barely beginning to quicken. He let out a breath and pulled slowly away, green eyes flickering open, to look up at Francis for a moment, taking in his beautiful blue eyes, the morning sunbeams falling on his soft golden hair, the creamy skin of his exposed shoulders and the warmth of him, lying on top of Arthur. He smiled, wrapping his legs around him, and leaned up to capture his lips in a kiss.

"I love you," he whispered softly against Francis's lips, moving his arms around his neck again, and reaching down with one hand to pull the covers up over the both of them. He moaned softly as Francis pulled him down to the warmth of the mattress, hands rubbing his skin softly, kiss deepening with the incredible tenderness only France would ever be able to manage. He let his lips part to the Frenchman, kissing back with nothing to fear, and reveling in the love of the moment.

Only one though lingered in his mind as Francis's hands slowly began to wander.

If this was a dream, Arthur never wanted to wake up.


	5. Epilogue: Aftermath

**A/N: And so, it draws to a close. I can't decide whether the ending would have been better without this, but it seemed to leave it rather unresolved, so I figured I'd upload it anyway. I'm somewhat surprised I ever actually got this finished! And now I have to go work on the Seven Days' War, so if you'll excuse me...**

* * *

The world meeting that day was held in awkward silence.

Ghosts of tears had dried on Ludwig's face, and Feliciano clung to him as though he'd vanish again at any instant. Arthur could tell simply from the way he couldn't seem to look anyone else in the eyes that he blamed himself for becoming infected.

Alfred sat holding Matthew's hand under the table, looking around at his fellow nations, clearing his throat as though searching for something—_anything—_to say. When he finally gave up, he fell back in his chair, pulling Matthew over to come and sit in his lap, for once, sitting in silence. There was nothing to be said.

Elizaveta and Roderich sat side by side, neither speaking, as Gilbert shifted slightly in his seat next to the Austrian, reaching over to take his hand. The action spoke a thousand words.

Ivan wasn't there, and neither was Naytalia. Katyusha sat beside Elizaveta, but where their normal low murmurings and giggles would have filled the air, there was only the deathly quietness of the conference room. The air conditioner's buzz was all that could be heard.

Across the room, Yao, Kiku, and the rest of their family sat in silence. Vash hugged a quivering Lili. Lovino sat in Antonio's lap, allowing the Spaniard to hold him close, for once, without a smile on his face. Arthur felt Francis reach over to take his hand, softly entwining their fingers, and feeling the way both of their hands shook slightly in the nearly-unbearable blanket of silence. No one had anything to say.

Finally, Gilbert rose from his seat, looking to his brother, and finding only Ludwig's nod of resignation. He swallowed hard and began to speak.

"The events of late have been... dangerous," he said haltingly, clearly grasping for something to say. "And from what small bit of information we were able to find, the pills that drugged us originated from a new terrorist society."

Scarlet eyes lifted from his hands on the table, and Gilbert stood a little straighter as he surveyed the room. "But until they strike again, we will have nothing more to go by. And until then, we can not hope to find them and take them down."

He sighed and looked down again. "Everyone needs to go home and get some rest. We'll continue when the world is back to relatively normal functions again."

With a glance at Ludwig, and the returning nod, Gil spoke again. "You may as well call your bosses to tell them that the meeting ended early."

* * *

The warm breezes and soft sunshine outside the confines of the conference building would still take some getting used to.

Everyone had left quietly, some nations stopping to chat briefly outside, and some simply heading for their cars, to go back to their hotels and book earlier flights to their homes. No one had so much as hinted at arguing for the very first time in at least a century.

Arthur and Francis stood together near the parking lot, watching the others in their uneasy silence, unsure of what would happen next. Arthur finally broke the pensive quiet.

"What now?" he whispered, shaking his head. "How can we fight? Bin Laden was almost too much for us, and now..."

He looked up at Francis, unsure, taking comfort in the warm hand that reached over to lace their fingers together and the warmth in those blue eyes.

"It will take time," Francis murmured softly, burying his face in his hair, inhaling his scent. "But we will recover. And when we do, there will be nothing strong enough to stand in our way."

Arthur nodded, looking down at the grainy concrete beneath his feet, and turned to face Francis, sliding his arms around the Frenchman's neck in a hug.

"I love you," he whispered softly. Francis nodded, holding him close.

"_Je t'aime aussi_," he murmured back. He let out a deep breath, rubbing Arthur's back, kissing his neck gently, letting his breaths linger, holding Arthur close. He knew what the Brit was thinking, and let his breaths ghost over his face as he murmured gently in his ear. He'd never meant words with such truth as he did now.

"I will never leave you again," he whispered, and Arthur truly believed it.


End file.
